It’s strange how quietly the years slip past.  One day, you’re young, full of motion and certainty, stepping into life with energy and plans stacked higher than you can count.  Then, almost without warning, you look up and realize you’ve traveled a long road.  I lived every bit of it: every hope, every mistake, every joy—but it still surprises me how quickly the seasons changed.  Somehow, I’ve arrived at the winter of my life, and I’m still trying to understand how it happened so fast.

I remember watching older folks when I was young, convinced their stage of life was a distant country I’d never reach.  My father told me that the best classroom was sitting at the feet of someone who had lived long enough to understand what matters.  I believed him then, and I believe him even more now.  Because suddenly, I’m the one with the gray hair and the slower step.  My friends are retired, comparing aches like baseball cards, and I catch glimpses of myself in them – older, softer around the edges, no longer the young people we once imagined we’d always be.

These days, even simple things feel like accomplishments.  A good shower can be the day’s big victory.  A nap isn’t a luxury anymore – it’s a necessity, and if I don’t choose to take one, my body will decide for me.  I didn’t expect the stiffness, the fatigue, or the gradual surrender of abilities I once took for granted.  But here they are, arriving right on schedule, whether I was ready or not.

Still, winter isn’t the end.  Not for me.  I hold tightly to the promise that when this season closes, another one—greater and more beautiful—will begin.  My faith tells me that, and I trust it with all my heart.

Do I have regrets?  Of course.  Everyone does.  Things I should have done, things I wish I hadn’t.  But there are also countless moments I’m grateful I lived, choices I’m glad I made, and people I’m thankful to have loved.  A lifetime is a complicated thing.

So, if you haven’t reached your winter yet, hear this from someone who had it come faster than you think.  Whatever matters to you—do it now.  Say the words you’ve been meaning to say.  Don’t wait for the “right time,” because life moves quickly, and none of us is promised all four seasons.  Today is the only day you can be certain of, so live it well.  Leave nothing important unsaid.  And remember that your life is a gift, not just to you, but to everyone who will remember you when you’re gone.  Make it a good one—one that shows you gave more than you kept.

And as you move through the seasons of life, keep a few truths in mind:

• Your children eventually turn into versions of you, whether they admit it or not.
• Going out is fun, but coming home is even better.
• Names slip away more easily now—but the funny thing is, other people forget them too.
• You realize mastery isn’t coming, and that’s perfectly fine.
• The things you once cared deeply about don’t matter as much, and the fact that you don’t care… well, that bothers you a little.
• A recliner and a loud TV can put you to sleep faster than any mattress.
• You miss the days when everything had two buttons: ON and OFF.
• You find yourself using short, puzzled words more often: “What,” “When,” “Why.”
• You can finally afford nice things, but you’re not sure it’s wise to wear them anywhere.
• Freckles turn into something else entirely.
• Everyone seems to whisper now.
• Your closet holds clothing in three sizes, and only one of them still fits.
• But some things truly do get better with age: old songs, old movies, and most of all, old friends.

I once read a simple message carved on a wall by a soldier far from home.  It read something like this:

“I shall pass through this world but once.  If, therefore, there is any kindness I  can show, any good thing I can do, let me do it now.  Let me not defer it, nor neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.

So, stay well, my old friend.  Share a laugh with the people who’ve walked beside you.  And remember: the real measure of a life isn’t what you gather—it’s what you share with others.